It’s the home of sweatshirts and domestic beer, Bud Light bottles and Steppenwolf overhead. Cubs on two TVs, Sox on two, but when the classic rock dies down, the sound is Sox, even in the seventh-inning stretch.

It’s clean and comfortable, well-stocked and knowledgeable. It has the largest assortment I’ve ever seen of a particular line of Doc Savage reprints I’ve been hunting for years and, at least as of last month, had a sign outside declaring that the Chicago Reader was no longer offered there. » Read the rest of this entry «